


The Prakhata Club

by Shorewall



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorewall/pseuds/Shorewall
Summary: I wrote this story to explore the world of Kaladesh on my own terms.  I didn't really like the story of the Consulate fighting the Renegades, and I felt it overshadowed the world itself.  When I bought my copy of the Kaladesh Art Book, I read about the Prakhata Club.  It sparked an itch, that spread into this.  I really like this premise, and I'm considering finding a way to continue it.





	The Prakhata Club

“What do you mean, my membership has expired?”

The bouncer deigned to look upon him with one disinterested eye. “Not hard to understand, sir.” Divit felt that “sir” conveyed less respect than it should. “Your renewal was declined.”

“ON WHAT GROUNDS?” Divit demanded, his voice rising. He felt that he was right on the edge of making a scene, as embarrassing as that may have been in the entryway to the exclusive Prakhata Club.

The bouncer’s lip curled into a sneer. “Need to know information.”

“NEED TO KNOW?!” Divit half screamed.

Now the brutish bouncer glared down with his full attention. “That’s right. And YOU don’t NEED to know! The Prakhata Club reserves its right to extend or deny fellowship to any it wishes, on any grounds they wish.” As the bouncer stared down at him, Divit could notice the attracted attention of bystanders. That rankled a little, though he couldn’t deny that he was making a scene. What was legitimately concerning was the approach of the other bouncers. This was about to escalate, and Divit didn’t want to lose his cool. Not here, in such a futile way. Not in a way that was doomed to fail.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Divit responded, obsequious and placating. He turned to the crowd. “There must have been a mixup,” he claimed, playing the part of one who was trying to save face. “I’ll go, and send for the management at another time. We’ll get this settled.” He turned to the bouncer, and included the others who were standing by in a sweep of his hand. “Thank you for informing me, and for doing your job so well.” The bouncers smirked at his appeal. It wasn’t the first time they had seen someone be turned out on their behind. And it never got old.

Divit turned to go, but hesitated. The bouncers had started to relax, but hadn’t let their attention wander yet. When he turned back, they tensed. But Divit wore an expression of pained earnestness, like a puppy that had been scolded. He held out his hand with some money in it. “For your service.” It wasn’t a bribe. It was customary to tip the service staff. It helped things to move smoothly, and was a common practice. But it was usually more subtle. At this moment, it reeked of desperation.

The main bouncer looked at the money, at the outstretched hand, and directly at Divit. Then he turned up his nose, folding his arms and saying nothing. This caused actual giggling to break out in the crowd of onlookers. Divit visibly wilted, a defeated man. 

As he turned to go, even the other bouncers laughed. “That was cold man! I would have at least taken the money!” said one of the others. The main bouncer smirked. 

Divit hurried away, minding to keep the sloped posture of a defeated man. He wanted to give everyone a sight they could understand. A once prominent member of the Prakhata Club, now turned out, slinking away in disgrace. That was a normal occurrence.

What wasn’t normal were the machinations going on in Divit’s brain. 

***

Divit’s thought process furiously raced back a decade, searching for patterns to grasp onto. He could remember his first time approaching those club doors. He had not done anything of note, not then, and was scared. He felt like a sheep trying to socialize with wolves.

His patron at the time, Tan, had reassured him. This wasn’t about what he had done. It was about what he would do. His talent had been noticed, and now it was time to meet those who would enable him to fulfill that talent. As they had walked through those wide doors, his wonder had quickly turned to disinterest. It was the same as any other darkly lit club, where people went to feel important, if more finely decorated.

His patron had seen his face fall, and knowing Divit, whispered in his ear. “It’s not the place, but the people.” And those words had proven true. He had been introduced, even if only in passing, to a veritable who’s who of dignitaries, movers, and shakers. Some names he could only recognize from news stories, and others he had seen officiating at public events! And they all shook his hand, and smiled politely, and said they were pleased to meet him. To meet him! It was then he began to see the possibilities of this place.

That first night had been just a taste. He could barely remember any of what had been said (in truth, nothing important), but rubbing shoulders with the elite, and more importantly, their favor and money, had been a heady brew. Divit had possessed a certain natural charisma, waxing eloquent about ideas and principles, telling it like a good story, and leading his audience around by the nose until he got them right where he wanted them, presenting his projects as mere thought experiments, and then asking, “Why not?”

He could inspire with his words, inspire himself, and give a feeling of unrealized potential lying just out of reach, ripe for the taking. He garnered contracts, and delivered on them. Yet he noticed that the big fish, the whales that could truly make or break you, seemed to stay away. They weren’t fazed by his artistic appeals.

Divit could have been happy, picking up his contracts, building his portfolio, and living well. He didn’t want for much at this point. Socializing in the Prakhata Club, discussing and debating with other inventors, having important people hang on his words, and the women. Oh, the pretty women (and men) that would hang around the sweet stench of success that wafted off of the members of that prestigious club. It was fast, it was heady. Divit knew that it could ruin better men than he, and tried to restrict himself. But then, there was only so much that he could do when pretty women draped themselves on each of his arms as he elocuted the specifics of hydro-propulsion and how that applied to Aether Magnification.

But more than the women, more than the attention, it was the sheer thrill of innovation that he cherished. With each contract, he was allowed to pursue his muse. In service of a stated goal, true, but he could use his own methods. He could stay up til 4 in the morning hammering out prototypes, and sleep for the next two days. He could go for walks in the park without looking over his shoulder for some overseer. Whenever he would encounter one of his patrons, they would smile and eagerly attempt to grill him on the project’s progress. But he would refuse them specifics, only saying that everything was going great. They were never satisfied with that little bit of information, but what could they do? He already had their money. Yet, he thought with a point of pride, he always came through with flying colors. He might not pay them the obsequious deference they thought their due, but no one had ever been less than satisfied, and always more than satisfied! Divit fancied himself in heaven.

***

At a certain point, though, Divit became dissatisfied. It wasn’t that he took it for granted. No, it was that he enjoyed it far too much. It was the temptation to rest on his laurels that he feared. Stop swimming, and you sink, he repeated to himself. He looked over his impressive resume, and felt not an inch of satisfaction.

No, it was time to catch a whale.

Divit did his homework. He had compiled a list of potential clients, summarizing their known tastes and patronage. He had whittled and narrowed down, even according to temperament, knowing that he himself wasn’t always the easiest to get along with. He had finally settled on Daana, a wealthy middle aged Aetherborn, established, yet probably aware of a looming decline. Old enough to want to leave a legacy, yet young enough to provide plenty of projects.

This time, he didn’t bother with the wining and dining. He psyched himself up, and then marched resolutely over to the aetherborn’s table, set back from the crowd behind velvet ropes. 

“Daana,” he stated resolutely, “I have a proposition that will make us both very rich.” Daana’s bodyguards had hurried over at his unbidden approach, but Daana gestured them to wait. Divit glowed. He had staked everything on this approach. It could have easily gone the other way, with him being thrown out, disgraced, for daring to approach his betters unbidden. But he had wagered that his swagger, the portent of new and exciting experiences, along with the cold hard reality of profit, would lend a weight to his words.

Daana’s eyes narrowed, in a way that Divit couldn’t discern at the time, but would learn to see was calculated interest. “I’m listening,” they rasped.

***

From that point, things had rocketed into the stratosphere. With Daana’s patronage- Partnership, Divit reminded himself, he had become the toast of Giraphur, known around Kaladesh. Where before his projects had been intimate and personalized works of art, now they were aimed at taking over the market. With Daana’s contacts, and Divit’s ideas, they secured contracts with the Consulate, with the inventor’s guild, with companies far and wide. Everyone in Giraphur used his inventions, even when creating their own.

And his promise came true. They made a lot of money. Daana was pleased beyond compare, and doted on Divit like a bird of paradise, surrounding him with luxury. Where before he had basked in the presence of famous names, now he was the one they flocked to. He could make or break a new name. And he did.

Divit stocked all of his earnings away, once again rationally restricting himself. He would let Daana indulge him and pick up the tab, occasionally making token attempts to pay. But Daana wouldn’t hear of it. And that wave of unbridled enthusiasm carried the Aetherborn into their last days.

Once Daana passed, there was a slight hiccup in the party. Divit wondered what would happen now. It turned out that Daana had split their vast fortune among 6 newly formed aetherborn. Divit had dutifully visited each of them to pay his respects, but their wealth and influence was greatly lessened, compared to Daana’s height. And they shared the young aetherborn style of trying to create their own name. They were loathe to be caretakers of their predecessor’s legacy.

Divit dismissed them from his mind. They were inconsequential. As long as he had the myriad of contracts his inventions had garnered, he would not have to take on any project he didn’t want to. And he was independently wealthy, aside from that. He didn’t need to bow and scrape anymore.

***

But then things started to change. He felt the pressure to transition from the engineering side to the patronage side. It was time to start giving back. He only laughed. He considered that he was still in his prime. And beholden to no one. He could pour his money from commissions into any project he chose. He entered a new stage of art. Some called it self-indulgent. But his reputation gave it weight. And Divit felt no need to cater to others. You either got it or you didn’t.

One by one, each of his contracts began trying to break their terms. Divit guessed that they didn’t like so much of the infrastructure of Giraphur resting in the hands of one man. He allowed himself to smile at the accomplishment, even as he worried for the future. Even now, ingenious engineers, who yet couldn’t lick his boots, were working in teams, in shifts, to reverse engineer his inventions and change them just enough to void their contracts. Divit growled. It was times like this he wished he had built self-destruct mechanisms into every model!

Whatever, he thought. He had had a long run. He had worked his way to the top of the mountain, the elite of the elite. They might break his contracts, steal his ideas, and forget about him, but that was life. He would know the part he had played. He could almost believe that.

...Naaaah! Rather than fade away, far better, he would punish those ingrates! They thought him toothless, humbled. They felt confident in defying him! He laughed mirthlessly. Good...Good… It would all come down to the Prakhata Club. He rubbed his hands together with glee. There were any number of people he could blame or target for his wrath, but the Prakhata Club had moved to the front of the line with this morning’s stunt. He had the best chance of getting most of his enemies in one place, and it would also be a moment of Legend. His eyes twinkled, as he once again began the process of turning his dreams into reality.


End file.
